Page 47 of Drifter’s Heart

I stare down at her. “If you want.”

She licks her lips. “Where are you staying?”

I shrug. “I don’t know yet. With Dallas. Or maybe in the back of my pickup. I don’t have plans, Winnie. I haven’t for a while now.”

If I thought Winnie’s wide, pretty eyes can’t get any larger, I’m dead wrong.

“You’re drifting from place to place, but you keep getting drawn back to him, don’t you?” She’s still holding on to my shirt.

Breathing is damn hard around her. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Do you need to call out of work?”

Winnie shakes her head. “Sally’s on break so I took time off too.” She snorts when I raise an eyebrow. “I actually get those, you know. I just haven’t taken any in a while. Not since…”

She doesn’t have to say it. It’s a problem we share.

“Yeah, same,” I murmur, and kiss the top of her head.

A fist thumps the inside of the truck window. “Are you lovebirds coming or do I have to find another rerun of Friends to watch?”

I huff at Dustan’s not-so-subtle attempt and open the door for Winnie. She climbs into my truck, sends me a glance I can’t decipher over her shoulder, and introduces herself to my other passenger.

And I pray that we will all survive the trip up to Valiant Peak.

The burnt-out foreman, the untried rodeo rider, and the overtired paramedic/single mom. It feels like a joke.

I’m still trying to find the punch line as I head out of town with my ragtag crew to register my rider and find him a bull to befriend.

FIFTEEN

WINNIE

Dust Country

The setup for the Valiant Peak Invitational gets bigger and better each year. That’s how my brother thinks. Nothing is ever small in his book, and last year’s occasion always has to be outdone by next year’s event.

This year, the town is illuminated by bright lights that glow during the day and a custom-built stadium that consumes an acre of land at the far end of town. The end closest to Coyote Falls.

I stare at the construction job that, by rights, probably requires full County planning approval, and I can bet almost everything I have that Cordell did not seek it. Or, more likely, he influenced his way into the approval. Money talks and my brother is a screamer, metaphorically speaking, of course.

West stands next to me, his arms folded across his broad chest while Dustan coos over everything in sight. “This is too much,” West mutters out of the corner of his mouth. “He’s gone too far this time.”

There’s no point asking who West is talking about; we both know.

“It’s a lot,” I acknowledge.

The Valiant Peak Invitational is named for the small town with a population of three thousand or so during peak trading and a floating population of five thousand for this event once a year alone. The Invitational is, from my brother’s perspective, here just to help him get through his issue. His therapy goals, if you will. Which I fully support—but seeing last year’s bench seating be shunted away in favor of an enormous pop-up stadium seems like overkill to the extreme.

“Where do they put all this stuff?” I mutter. “Even Cord doesn’t have enough storage out at Coyote for this amount of crap.”

West nods. “Yeah, not after what happened with last year’s event.” He doesn’t unfold his arms, and his jaw locks. Something inside his mouth creaks.

I don’t blame him. Last year we had God’s own trouble with theft and lots of equipment. That all coincided with another catastrophic event that nearly ended the rodeo altogether. That Cord is back this year is a testament to his tenacity. As always. Someone once told me that bouncebackability is a word. If it is, his picture should be next to the definition.

This, though? Getting the leftover kit at the end of the Invitational back into the barn was a bad enough job, and storing the rest between Coyote and Dallas’s spare space behind his produce store back in Cloakton. But this? I had no idea he’d invested in a full-scale stadium for a single event. But then, this has Cordell Rand written all over it.

“Fuck knows where he’ll put this shit when he’s done.” West is on my wavelength, and I’m grateful.

A happy voice attached to a mop of dark curls and blazing dark eyes greets us. “Custom-built warehouse out the back of the stadium. Full storage lockup, security around the clock.”